


It's Been Minutes, It's Been Days (It's Been All I Will Remember

by orphan_account



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, I Really Regret Nothing, Kissing, Like 85 Percent of This Is Them In Bed, Making Out, Married!Fitzsimmons, Perthshire Fic, SO MUCH FLUFF, They Barely Leave The Bed, They Leave The Bed For A Few Scenes, This Is All For Kris, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, You're Welcome, Your Suffering Has Only Just Begun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 03:19:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13604442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: They never believed they would be this lucky. To finally have the future they always dreamed about.~ Or, a single day told from the comforts of Fitzsimmons’ bed.





	It's Been Minutes, It's Been Days (It's Been All I Will Remember

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leopoldjamesfitz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopoldjamesfitz/gifts).



> I should warn you, there's probably *too* much fluff in this...oops?
> 
> Big thanks to whatlighttasteslike and jadesolo for helping me with the small things Fitz notices about Jemma :) and also jadesolo for being my beta <3
> 
> For leopoldjamesfitzs aka Kris, who I've tortured enough with this concept
> 
> Fic title from Crack The Shutters by Snow Patrol. Fic is also loosely based on the song. I highly suggest giving it a listen :)

Jemma has always been described as an early bird. Sometimes she would rise before the morning sun made its appearance on the horizon, heading straight for a mug of tea to watch as dark turned to light. She's experienced many early mornings where she would sit and bask in the silence before it was interrupted by birds chirping and the day beginning.

However, since moving to Perthshire with her husband, she has become quite the opposite. So when Jemma opened her eyes and noticed both the darkness consuming the air outside and the clock glowing at a few minutes past five, she's not exactly ecstatic.

Fitz has found a way to tease her about her change in attitude towards early mornings. He lived through the catastrophes that occurred at the Academy, with Jemma knocking furiously on his door at six o'clock with two steaming mugs of tea and a cheery disposition. And in the years since those haunting memories she's found other ways to disturb his peaceful slumber, some of them particularly more _pleasant_ than others. But it was interesting to take note of the gradual change in Jemma: from someone who used to wake up before the crack of dawn to someone who now rises as the morning ends.

After all she's been through, she deserves to be well rested each night. Which was, unfortunately, not the case for this particular night.

She closes her eyes in hopes to catch just a few more hours of sleep, but after a couple minutes there's no use in trying. Another disadvantage of her changing sleeping patterns was learning that once she had woken up, there was little chance she would get back to sleep. With their lives no longer hectic and at times a bit too relaxing, it just gave her ample opportunity during the day to take a long nap.

But for the time being, Jemma was subjected to being awake. With a heavy and silent sigh, she lifts the comforter up and off her body, the cool air hitting her bare legs and goosebumps running along them. She grabs Fitz's arm and, as gently as possible, pushes his arm off her stomach. Every night, with whatever position they sleep in, he finds a way to tangle at least one limb around her body. It brings a smile to her face when she wakes up in his arms, almost crushed into his body with her head in the crook of his neck. No wonder why she sleeps so peacefully.

He doesn't stir when she gets up, and Jemma releases a slightly more audible breath of relief. Some nights he's a heavy sleeper, and other nights he can wake with any movement or noise no matter how minuscule.

She throws his discarded T-shirt over her small frame and closes the door as she tiptoes out of their bedroom, the floorboards creaking under her bare feet with every step she takes. She walks as lightly as she can down the hallway to their kitchen, shivering at the cold air that greets her there. She knew that sometimes with the Scottish winter nights they would need to pull out the space heaters for extra warmth, but this was beyond ridiculous.

She pads over to the radiator in the corner of their living room, touching the top of it and not shocked to feel that it was bitter cold.

Jemma groans into her hands, and makes a mental note to alert Fitz when he wakes up that their radiator was broken - again.

Shuffling back over to their kitchen, she grabs the kettle from the stove and fills it up with water. She sneaks a glance out the window over their sink while the water runs, the dark night greeting her save for the small porch light that provides some illumination. Their house sits at the end of a long driveway, a nice little getaway from the outside world and also an excuse to stay in when the weather is intolerable for travel. Their secluded abode also means that they have to make quite the trip to run any sort of errand, and they make a whole day out of it when they do. They always find new sights to see and new things to try, as they bask in their new life together.

She sets the kettle on the stove and heats the water up, falling into a daze that she snaps out of when she hears the familiar whistling signaling her water is boiled. Jemma reaches up to grab a mug from the cupboard and pours her water in, making up her tea to her liking. Sitting down at their kitchen table, she wraps her hands around her mug to warm up her hands. Her body slowly warms up with each gulp she takes from her tea. When she's halfway to the bottom of the mug, she starts to feel a bit lethargic and yawns, actually a bit happy she's starting to feel tired again. Maybe then she'll be able to get some more sleep.

As she walks past the radiator again, she has other ideas.

Placing both of her hands on the broken radiator, the cold creates a numb and tingly sensation in her fingers. After a couple minutes, the feeling is unbearable and, with an evil grin, she tiptoes back into her and Fitz's bedroom. He's sleeping on his back now, his hand resting on his chest - where her head usually lies, she remembers with a smile - and almost abandons her plan. On the one hand, he looks too peaceful for her to disturb him. But on the flip side, this would be payback for what he did to her yesterday while she was taking a nap.

(Never will she rid her mind of the memory of the light yellow smiley face on her cheek painted on while she was enjoying a nice dream.)

She moves over to the opposite side of the bed and watches him in his peaceful state for a minute before placing her hypothermic hands on both sides of his face.

He stirs after a split second, his eyes half lidded as he mumbles, "Wake me when the sun's up, Jemma," and falls back to sleep.

 _Oh no_ , Jemma thinks, _He's not getting off that easy._

He fell asleep with his hands holding hers and, while the idea of it is endearing, his scorching hands are warming up hers and ruining her plan. She slips her hands out of his and tries to think of a better way to wake him up, then grins. She climbs onto the bed and lowers her body on top of his, straddling his hips and leaning forward to place her hands back on his face. And that surely wakes him up.

"What are you _doing_ to me, woman?" he sputters, his eyes wide in the pitch black but the blue almost as clear as day.

She grins as innocently as she can. "This is payback for yesterday," She pauses for a second, taking in his confused expression, "You know what you did."

He's still for a second, then smiles and teases, "And what did I do, exactly? It seems I'm having a memory lapse."

She leans even closer into him, her nose almost touching his. "I recall waking up to a cold feeling on my cheek and a wild curly haired man standing over me with a finger dipped in yellow paint and a evil grin on his face."

He laughs quietly at the memory, his hands sliding up and down the outside of her bare legs. "You're the one who decided to take a nap instead of helping me with the spare bedroom. It's on you."

She feels a shiver run through his body. "Okay, you proved your point with the hands. You can move them now."

She sees the exact opposite disposition in his eyes. They've turned a darker blue, the dark of their room not the reason why. She slowly slides her hands down his face to this neck and flips them over to give him a maximum chill.

"That's not healthy, Jemma," he says, shivering.

She smiles and meets his eyes, sliding his hands up into his hair and scratches his scalp. He groans when she leans forward to press her lips against the shell of his ear, her warm breath making him shiver for another reason. "Our radiator is broken again," she whispers.

He groans again, this time in frustration. "I'll add it to the list," he sighs, and she pushes her body up off his to roll the blanket down his body. Seeing as though he's taken to only sleeping in his boxers, and she's in his tee shirt, it gives her ample opportunity to slide her freezing cold hands down his chest in a slow, tantalizing way. His eyes are trained on hers, the dark blue of his irises almost black in comparison to the dark of the room.

As they slide down his stomach and even lower, that's when he decides he's had enough. In one swift motion, he shifts his body so she falls to the side and traps her body under his, his hands grabbing hers and throwing them up above their heads.

A second goes by, then another, and Jemma is not sure what exactly Fitz is thinking. But then he dips his head down and kisses her lightly on the mouth, almost too light for her taste. When he pulls away, her head leans up to capture his lips in a deeper kiss, and neither will admit to who moaned first. After all their years together and countless kisses shared, it's still an exhilarating feeling to allow themselves a moment like this. And they happen to have many, many moments like this.

He pulls apart to press kisses to every part of her face, and a cross between a nervous laugh and a sigh falling from Jemma's lips. Fitz's mouth marks every inch of her jaw and slides down to her neck, where he feels her pulse quicken under his kisses. She basks in the feeling of knowing how much Fitz loves her, and how much he proves it to her every day.

She almost wants to cry at the sheer domesticity of their lives now, where they have the time to just lay in each other's arms and trade kisses and more than that without the constant fear of it being their last time doing so. Jemma has envisioned her future on many occasions, long before she and Fitz even became a couple, and yet she always _knew_ it would be him next to her at her wedding, the one whose arms she would fall asleep and wake up to, and the man who would be her everything until her last breath.

He pulls away at the feeling of something wet falling on his cheek, and looks up to see her crying. "Jemma?" he asks, worriedly.

She shakes her head to dismiss whatever thought he had. "I'm okay, Fitz. I'm just - I'm happy." She sniffs and he moves both of his hands from above their heads to wipe at her tears, his thumbs moving over the apple of her cheeks. Her hands move down to rest on his forearms, squeezing them gently.

His eyes search hers, the concern slightly draining from them and replaced with a more serene and content look, and he bends down to kiss her gently. "I love you, Jemma," he whispers, his lips brushing against hers as he speaks. "I love you more than you could ever know."

She begs to differ, seeing as though she has been on the receiving end of his love enough to know the extent of it, but she's too tired to argue it. "And I love you more than that."

His lips fall open against hers again, his mouth pressing fervent kisses against hers, and she's slow to respond to them or counter with her own. She tries to push down the yawn she felt coming on, but she gives in and her mouth falls open wide against his to yawn, her jaw cracking as it happens. His face splits into a wide grin at the sight, her nose scrunching up adorably and her eyes screwed shut. It lasts for a few long seconds, and when it's over, her wide glassy eyes peer up into his.

"Go back to sleep, Jemma." She doesn't need to be told twice. He rolls over onto his back and pulls Jemma with him, her body falling on top of his. He pulls the blanket up to cover their bodies, his arms encircling her, and she falls asleep to the steady beating of his heart.

* * *

A sliver of light peeks through the shutters in their bedroom, hitting Fitz in the face. His nose scrunches and he opens one eye, then groaning and closing it again. He tried to convince Jemma when they first moved in that they purchase light canceling curtains to avoid this problem, but she told him the shutters over the windows contributed to the charm of the cottage. And she had also widened her honey brown eyes, which always melts Fitz like a puddle.

Now, he opens his eyes and shifts to look at the clock, grinning at the fact that they managed to sleep through breakfast and lunch. He loves when they don't have anything to do for the day and they can just sleep. With no interruptions during the night, they usually sleep in until around ten and just lay contentedly in bed - and in each other's arms - until eleven. But it seems that they both really needed the sleep to wake up at quarter past twelve.

He's on his side with Jemma pulled into his chest, and he slowly and gently disentangles himself from her so he can get up. She stirs and mumbles something that sounds like his name, but doesn't fully wake up. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth at the sight. Fitz walks over to their closet to grab another shirt - seeing as though Jemma stole his - and throws it over his frame. Walking over to their shutters, he squints at the bright light through the crack in the shutters. He reaches for the latch to open it, but hears a familiar and loud moaning from behind him.

"Don't open them, Fitz." He turns to see Jemma, her half lidded eyes staring at him, her body wrapped up in the blanket all snug. She's looks quite adorable, her head barely poking up over the top of the comforter to glare at him with narrowed eyes. "Don't do it."

Instead of answering her, he unlatches the shutters and moves them both to the side to peer out the large picture window into their backyard, ignoring her loud groan and the sound of the comforter rustling to cover her whole body.

Their backyard is covered in a light dusting of snow, the white in contrast to the bark of the trees is beautiful. The forecast called for a blizzard today, another excuse for him and Jemma to stay cooped up in their house.

The yard itself was one of the selling points for Fitz, it's quaint space appealing to him. He never had a place to run around when he was little, only the dangerous woods, and so the fact he finally had the option fulfilled the desires in his young heart. When they first moved into the cottage, he pulled her out to the yard and they played for a few hours until he passed out in exhaustion. He's hoping he can convince her to build snowmen with him once the snow stops.

There are two trees particularly close together in the yard, and Fitz envisions putting a hammock up between them. Jemma had one growing up and expressed to him how much she loved it, and the idea forms in his head to set one up the next time she's out for the day. He smiles at the fence around the back of their yard, blocking off the woods. Fitz also hopes they can eventually have a dog to put that fence to better use.

And possibly more, if they're lucky.

"Fitz?"

Her inquisitive voice pulls Fitz back, the thoughts and dreams pushed down - for now. He turns to look at her and suddenly he can't breathe. The sun reflects off the snow and through their window, hitting Jemma in an almost blinding way. Her hands are hooding her eyes so she can see him, squinting through the rays that hit her face. She threw the covers off her body while he was turned away, and he can't stop his eyes from roaming over her from head to toe: the way his tee shirt barely skims the top of her thighs, the black knickers that he could clearly see through the white of the shirt, and absolutely nothing else. His eyes skim her bare legs and back up to her face, noticing the way her face visibly heats up under his gaze.

He'll never get used to the fact that this is his life now: getting to check out his wife without anyone else around. Before, he had to keep the looks saved only for her under wraps until they were alone. And sometimes it was really hard for him to do so. He tried to sneak glances at her that would throw her off, but she always sent a few at him in return that distracted him for longer than appreciated.

But now - now that they _finally_ had infinite alone time - they don't need to hold back. Fitz isn't sure it's good for his health, this arrangement.

It's not just Jemma's body that throws him off; it's Jemma's body engulfed in rays of light.

He thinks back to something she had said a couple years back in front of that window as the sun rose. How she missed the sun - not as much as she missed Fitz, she made sure to point out - more than most things. It was one of her favorite things about waking up early all those years; sleep deprivation was worth it to see the sun on the horizon, making its first appearance each day. She called every day a miracle when it rose, which is why she felt like she was truly in hell when she went six months without it.

He knew what the lack of sun did to her body physically, but not as much as it traumatized her mentally. To not see that light every day broke Jemma down, which explains why she was so emotional the first time she saw it after Maveth.

He held her as she let the tears escape, and he held her as she explained that thinking about him on Maveth was like her seeing the sun. She looked at his picture at the beginning of what she deciphered was a new day, and it was as if she was watching the sunrise back home. It helped her for a bit, to regain hope she'd see the actual sun again. And yet she told him that he was the sun to her, which made him fall even more.

"What is it, Fitz?" she asks, tilting her head with a sleepy smile on her face.

He shakes his head. "Nothing," he says.

Her hand reaches out for his, and his breath catches again at the small gold band around her finger. It's only been a few months since they got married, so they're still technically newlyweds, but it's still a surreal feeling. His fingers link with hers and she drags him - although he's quite willing - back into the bed.

Jemma's body is a lot warmer know, the combination of the sun and Fitz's body against hers and the comforter provided some needed warmth into her veins. She hums in contentment as she snuggles into his side, her head in the crook of his neck. Fitz snatches her left hand with his own and runs his thumb over her wedding ring, the metal warm to the touch due to his modifications.

"Do you sometimes find it hard to believe?" he asks, looking up at the ceiling, "That we've reached this moment in our lives?"

He assumes she nods by the movement against his neck. "Sometimes it's too good to be true," she admits, her head turns to look up at him even though his eyes were still trained above. "That we're married. That you're my husband. That we got our cottage."

He agrees with an affirmative noise in the back of his throat. Sometimes he can't fathom the fact that Jemma Simmons, the woman he thought hated him when they first started out at the Academy, would become his wife. Sometimes he can't wrap his head around the fact that the woman he loves more than anything in the universe loves him back. It baffles him to this day that she's still here and not some figment of his imagination. The looks she gives him - like he's her whole world - is the same look he will give her every day until he dies.

Jemma's other hand sneaks its way up to his jaw to bring his attention to her, and she doesn't say a word but rather pulls his face closer to hers and presses her mouth to his briefly.

"That we're officially Fitzsimmons," she whispers, brushing her lips against his again.

He pulls away from the kiss a little too early for Jemma's liking. "I haven't thought about that since it happened," he admits. "Our name."

"Neither have I, if I'm being honest," she agrees, "We've spent our whole career passing that name off to establish our unbreakable partnership, and now it has established our unbreakable marriage." They share a brief smile, but then Fitz's falls away.

"Please don't tell me you're going to start calling me Leopold, though. Because that would be a deal breaker."

Her loud laughter that follows is instantly broken off by Fitz's mouth on hers and a death threat to throw Jemma into the fresh snow in only the shirt she's wearing.

* * *

"Fiiiitz," Jemma whines, "We have a list." She drags out the last word for extra emphasis, but it does no good.

( Technically, it wasn't a list. And technically, this list is just blank sticky notes placed on areas of the house that need improving. One day, she just came home from running errands and found one of the yellow post-its on the cabinet in the kitchen.

"Fitz?" she had called out. "What's this?"

He had run out of their bedroom at an alarming pace, but then relaxed when he saw what the commotion had been. "Oh. The door is squeaky. I have to fix it."

She had rolled her eyes at his way of keeping tabs on everything he had to do, and occasionally will leave little handwritten notes on them. His heart warms up whenever he sees them. )

"I dont want to," he says, his voice muffled by the fabric of her shirt.

One minute she was sprawled out on top of him with his hand running through her hair, enjoying the quiet and calm silence of the room, and the next she was flipped over onto her back with Fitz pinning her body down and clinging to her.

She tried to get up, but she was defenseless against him. His legs had an iron grip around hers, and his arms were wound even tighter around her back.

This is what she gets for saying they had work to do.

Jemma sighs heavily and rolls her eyes at the ceiling, her body too tired right now to even try to get out from under him. She settles for running her hand through his curls, smiling at the soft noise he makes in response.

After a minute, she sighs again. "We really do need to work, Fitz."

"Says who?" he groans.

She slides her hands down his back and under his shirt, and he yelps. "Says the broken radiator."

He's up and out of bed in record time.

Fitz finishes painting the spare bedroom while Jemma tidies up the house. When she moves past the room he's in with a box in her arms, she takes in his handiwork.

He's finishing up the trim along the window, his back to her, and she smiles at the view. It's not that he hasn't looked good before. He's given her many opportunities in the past to appreciate how he would look in his dress slacks and button down shirts. And when he would wear the occasional suit, it made her heart race.

But the change in atmosphere and situation gives Jemma a greater chance to appreciate how good her husband looks. He's only wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, but the sight alone is enough to make Jemma stare longer than she should.

Fitz turns around to dip the paint brush back into the bucket, but starts when he sees Jemma standing by the door. "What is it?"

The smile on his face falters in the slightest when he sees how her eyes roam up and down his body. "Oh, nothing," she says.

Then she adds, while gesturing up and down with her eyes, "Is it weird that I find this attractive?"

She has to run and lock herself in the bedroom because he follows quick behind with yellow paint on his hands. She doesn't leave the bedroom until she's certain he's not waiting for her on the other side.

But when she opens the door after ten minutes, he pushes her backwards until she hits the bed and they both fall onto it, laughing. The paint has been washed off his hands, luckily for their white comforter, but they have no problem roaming over Jemma's body to pull her on top of him.

She has half a mind to scold him that they still haven't fixed the radiator, and that they really should be working. But the other half of her mind is too content to make any movement. Her hands move of their own volition to rest against his forearms, moving up and down in what she thought was a relaxing touch.

"That's it," he mutters under his breath. He rolls over to trap her body under his, but he doesn't cling to her like he did before. It was then that she remembers her husband is quite...ticklish in the crook of his elbows. And paired with the freezing temperature of her hands, it added to the sensation he felt.

She remembered the first time she discovered he was ticklish. It was at the Academy; a late night studying for a big exam weighed heavily on Fitz. Jemma, of course, offered to rub the tension out of his shoulders. But as soon as she laid her hands on him, he jumped away and snapped at her. She immediately found out he was ticklish and, despite his protests, she did nothing but tease him about it.

Ever since then, he has been determined to get his revenge. She's just always been one step ahead of him. Except for now.

Fitz balances his weight on one arm near her head, and he places his other hand on her forehead. The look in his eyes as they stare into hers is electric, almost too intense.

His fingertips slowly trace along her hairline, his touch so light it's barely there. They move down her temple to the shell of her ear, traveling along the outside to lead down to her jaw. Then his hand locks around her chin and pulls her face forward into a slow and dizzying kiss.

Fitz leans away from the kiss after only a few seconds, chuckling lightly when her lips chase his. Backing up off her body, she feels a chill hit her from the loss of heat. But his hands returning to trace her features fills her with enough warmth to fill the void.

They move from her chin down the length of her neck and down to her collarbone. He leans forward to place a kiss there, and his lips drag along the skin down to where her shirt fell down.

Fitz's fingertips trace down her arms as he continues to plant kisses on her shoulder. They stop especially at the crook of her elbow, and she squirms under his body at the feeling coursing through her at the touch.

Jemma's eyes involuntarily close when he drops his whole weight on top of her and now both of his hands are tracing hers. She's always loved his hands. She loved to see them in action when he would talk about science, how they would move when he would be working on a project. And also how they loved. She adored how his hands would hold her while they kissed, while they laid in bed, while they -

His lips gently nip at her shoulder and she gasps. "You're thinking too much," he whispers, his breath fanning across her skin. Fitz raises his body up to lean over her, and he's giving her that look that he knows drives her nuts. "What are you thinking about?"

She smiles, pulling him down to rest on top of her. Leaning forward, she whispers against the shell of his ear, "How good you are with your hands."

Needless to say, the radiator is left in its same broken condition for the next hour or so.

* * *

If someone were to ask Fitz what his favorite thing about Jemma was, he would probably answer by listing at least twenty different specific things off the top of his head. He cannot help it; there's just so much to love about her.

And it's not just the fact that she's his wife and he has an obligation to say these things. He's truly been enraptured by this woman since the day they met. Every day is just a new opportunity for him to learn and notice something new about her. The quirks, he likes to call them.

For one, he notices how no matter what, she always has not one but two elastics around her slim wrist in case she needs to put her hair up. They're always black, and never another color.

He also notices that regardless of what snack she's eating, she always leaves the last bite for him. Even when she's distracted, she still manages to leave a small portion for him, without thinking.

Jemma has a habit of humming to herself whenever she thinks she's alone. Sometimes it's while she's making dinner, or doing dishes, or laundry. But Fitz is always within earshot. He never calls her out on it, because he's afraid then that she'll stop. He does however, sometimes, get the songs she hums stuck in his head and she grows suspicious.

In the rare mornings that she wakes up before the sunrise, she'll make herself up a mug of tea and walks out onto their small porch to watch the sun come up over the horizon. Sometimes he'll join her, if he happens to wake up too.

Occasionally Fitz will come home after running errands and see Jemma bolt from the couch into the bathroom, and he knows immediately from the movie playing on the TV that she's been crying and doesn't want him to know. He finds it adorable.

He always finds it funny when she sits and reads a book. She gets so into it that when she gets mad, she throws the book, crosses her arms, and pouts for five minutes before resuming reading.

But out of all of those things, what he loves most is just getting to sit and watch her being herself. Just as he's doing right now.

He's sitting across from her in their living room, watching her intently as she reads her book. She's sitting in their one seated chair, her legs dangling over the arm of it. She's wearing nothing but his oversized jumped and a pair of boxers she stole, and a pair of glasses she needs for reading are perched on her nose. Her hair is down and frames her face to where she doesn't notice him looking.

It's then that she sets her book down on her lap and leans to the side to reach for her mug of tea when she notices him staring. "What is it, Fitz?" she asks teasingly, sipping her tea and jerking back at the hot liquid. Setting it back down on the table, she raises an eyebrow that quirks over the rim of her glasses. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he says, shaking his head. "Sometimes I just like to look at you."

She smiles at this, and picks her book up to resume reading. But as soon as she picks it up, she sets it back down again. "You're still staring," she says, swinging her legs over the chair to face him.

He shrugs. "Can't help it if it's hard to look away from you when you look like that."

Her hands fly to her neck, and if Fitz didn't know any better she looks a bit flustered at his statement. "You're just saying that."

"Oh no, I'm definitely not," he says affirmatively, shaking his head. "I _really_ can't keep my eyes off you, Jemma."

She stares at him for a minute more before she all but jumps onto the couch beside him and pulls him in for a searing kiss.

It's nothing like the sweet ones they've shared throughout the day; no, Jemma wastes no time in deepening it and letting him know just how much his words affect her. She climbs into his lap and slides her hands up his chest into his hair, scratching at his scalp and emitting a groan from his throat.

It's amazing how, after all these years of getting used to Jemma kissing him, he still manages to short circuit whenever her lips touch his. He isn't so far gone, though, that he wraps his arms around her back and lies her down gently on the couch cushions, hovering over her in order to avoid crushing her. His hands move idly down her arms and under the old jumper, a zing running through his body of feeling her soft skin, hot under his touch.

He pulls away from the kiss, however, when he notices something new about Jemma that he's actually quite afraid to bring up.

"Jemma?" he calls out, his voice hoarse from kissing.

"What's wrong?" Her own voice is rough, her lips swollen, and Fitz feels another zing through his body.

"Oh it's nothing. Only that um - it's just that uh - I know that you've has a special love for fruit loops and pop tarts these days. And don't get me wrong, I love them too. It's um - it's quite possible that because of eating it you're -" He stumbles over his words, not exactly desiring to tell her, and hoping that she can best infer what he's trying to say.

"Are you saying I've gained weight, Fitz?"

He doesn't know whether to sigh in relief that he didn't have to say it, or hide his face in embarrassment that she figured it out for him. Instead he just squeaks out, "Technically -"

"This is no 'technically' situation, Fitz. Are you really implying that I've gained weight?" The fact she reiterated her statement doesn't help. Her voice is stern; it's her Dr. Jemma Simmons voice.

He whispers, "Yes."

" _Ugh, Fitz!_ " She drags her hands down her face in frustration. But then she stops for a minute and looks up at him. "What makes you think that?"

"I just - I notice things about your body. And I notice you have a bit... _more_ in your abdomen region and I just assumed -"

She rolls him off of her so she can get up. "That is utterly preposterous, Fitz. You and I both know I haven't either of those things nor any other sugary foods in the past few months."

"Well that's the only logical explanation for it!" he says, following her into their bedroom.

She strips off the jumper, only now standing in her bra and his boxers, and stares at the mirror. "I see absolutely nothing, Fitz. I don't know what you felt but there's nothing here."

He moves up behind her and takes her hands, sliding them down her stomach until they rest just under the elastic of the boxers. And that's when she feels it - her stomach protruding in the slightest. It's barely noticeable, but it's there.

Then they both look up at each other in the mirror and they both have the same thought.

"There's no way that you're -"

"No, of course not. At least I don't think so -"

"You don't think so?" His hands fly off her and she spins to face him.

"Well I can't exactly know for sure, now can I?"

His hand is now floating in the air like it does when he thinks. "You would have exhibited symptoms by now -"

"You're right, Fitz! I would've had the nausea and the food cravings -"

"Although you did have 'food poisoning' a month ago for a week," he then says, dazed.

"We both had it. Unless you happen to be pregnant as well, I don't think that's it."

He frowns at this, but still taps his finger on his chin in thought. "Okay well then, uh - boobs!"

He yells it out so loud and unexpected that Jemma laughs, and leans forward to push her body against his and kiss him briefly. But then cringes when she stands back. "You're right. They do hurt a lot more than they should."

They go back and forth like this for a few minutes, only confirming their suspicions.

"Jemma," he says, wearily.

She then suddenly rushes to their closet and begins pulling out clothes. "We need to go to a store right now."

His hands grab her by the shoulders, and he gently shakes her. "It's a blizzard out there. We can't go anyway."

She pales at the thought of not getting an answer; she knew they should've set up their lab sooner. But then she snaps her fingers, scaring Fitz out of his trance. She runs out of their bedroom and opens their closet door in the hall, Fitz not too far behind her.

"What are you doing?" he asks, watching her rummaging around.

"Daisy gave us a housewarming gift and told me not to open it 'until I knew.'" She pops her head to make the quote features with her hands.

"So?" he asks.

"So," she continues, "I opened it anyway."

"Of course you did," he mutters under his breath.

Jemma then pulls a small box out of the closer and opens the lid, pulling the gift out of the box and holding it up for Fitz to see. Of course Daisy would buy them a pregnancy test as a housewarming gift.

"I love our friend," Jemma exclaims as she sprints into the bathroom.

"I'll uh - wait out here," he says shyly, and Jemma smiles as she shuts the door softly.

Only a minute goes by before she opens the door and joins Fitz where he sits on the floor, both of their backs against the wall. It's cold against her bare skin.

"Is it done yet?" he asks impatiently.

She shakes her head. "It's only been a few seconds Fitz."

He nods in understanding, and can't help but nervously bounce his hand against his knee.

"I know we haven't -"

"When do you think -"

They both stop and urge the other to talk, but Jemma nudges his side and he takes a deep breath.

"When do you think this happened? If it did happen?"

"Well it certainly didn't happen a few hours ago. It doesn't work that fast." She stifles a giggle at the look on his face. "I mean, we've only been living here a little over a month now, and we were back with the team for a month after arriving home from space. And based on how my stomach is developing, date of conception should have been -"

She pauses for a second, not sure to believe it. "Fitz. I think we may have conceived our child in space. In the future. In our lab."

He doesn't say anything at first; he just stares straight ahead in silence. Then he says, "That sounds like something we'd do."

They both nod in sync, both looking intently at the bathroom door.

"I guess it does," she agrees.

And they both know they're right. Nothing about their relationship has ever been normal; this is just something to add to the list.

Another moment goes by. "What were you gonna say before?"

She hesitates, but then sighs. "I know we haven't really... _talked_ about this. And I wanted to make sure this is something you want."

She doesn't bother to look at him; she doesn't think she can. But he scoots out along the hardwood floor to sit across from her and places both of his hands on her face, stroking her cheeks gently.

"Jemma," he breathes out, "I -"

"I know that your past was made up of horrible memories of a boy without his father -"

"Yes, I know -"

"And I know you don't want the same to happen your own child. That you don't want them to suffer the same as you did."

Jemma's breath catches in her throat at the emotion bubbling up, the realization they could quite possibly be having a child finally hitting her, and places her own hands on his chest. "I just love you, Fitz. And I know that despite all of the bad that you went through, you are too loving and caring and selfless and - and _Fitz_ , you're _Fitz_."

She sniffs and he wipes her tears away. "I know deep down that regardless of what happens, you will be the best father our child would ask for. And the best husband I could ever have."

He pulls her closer to press his lips against hers, and pushes her back further into the wall to kiss her harder. He only pulls away when the need for air became necessary. They're both gasping when they break apart, but they're smiling nonetheless.

"You think it's time?" he asks, his breath fanning out across her lips.

She nods, sucking in a heavy breath. He stands up first and helps her to her feet, and they both step into the bathroom to check the test. Jemma walks to the sink first with Fitz right behind her. He wraps his arms around her waist and leans his head against her shoulder, pressing kisses into the soft skin there in reassurance.

Jemma picks up the test with shaking hands, and she can't help fight the grin splitting on her face. "I'm pregnant, Fitz," she whispers, and feels his arms tighten around her waist in response.

They slide down to the tiny bump on her stomach and strokes it gently with his thumbs, and just the gesture alone warms Jemma up. She looks at him in the mirror, but he's looking down at her stomach, and she could see in his eyes just how much he already loves their child.

She turns around in his arms and pushes him out the door and across the hall to their bedroom, to where they both fall unceremoniously onto the bed. They're giddy; so ecstatic that every kiss they try to have they end up breaking because it's hard to kiss when both parties are smiling wide.

"I can't believe you didn't figure it out before," he says, hovering over her.

"I'm a bloody biochemist but I couldn't even figure out I was pregnant," she says, laughing and shaking her head in disbelief.

"Say that again," he whispers. She looks up into his eyes, and sees nothing but love within the blue irises.

"I'm pregnant?" He nods, and leans down to press a soft kiss against her lips.

"I haven't even gotten used to calling you my wife yet, and now I have to get used to the fact that you're eating for two."

"Everything with you has to be a food analogy, doesn't it?"

"Pretty much, yeah." She giggles, and that only intensifies his smile.

"I can't believe I didn't notice it before, when we were -"

"You were quite distracted, if I recall -" she interrupts, waggling her eyebrows. The action only makes Fitz smile even bigger, if it were possible.

"You're sure you want this, Fitz?" she asks, her voice laced with emotion.

The light from the window in their room is shining down on her and, paired with her smile, makes her seem even more ethereal than he already believes she is. It reflects off her eyes, the warm brown color resembling what he always imagined he would see in their children. The whole idea that all of this - that this life he gets to have - is a reality, it takes his breath away.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," he whispers back.

And as he traces her jaw with his fingertips and leans down to kiss her, he hides her body from the sun. Because as much as she adores the warmth and he adores seeing her in the light, he has to be selfish about some things in his life.

In fact, he has the right to lay in bed with his wife and unborn child for the rest of the day. They did end up fixing the broken radiator, after all. The rest could wait for tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you thought! Feel free to leave a comment below or say hi to me on tumblr. I'm fitzjemma there :)


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